


The case of the architect's revenge

by dogandmonkeyshow



Series: Watson's Woes JWP 2018 stories [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Reminiscing, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 23:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/pseuds/dogandmonkeyshow
Summary: Greg tells John of Sherlock's first case for the Met.





	The case of the architect's revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the watson's_woes DW comm July writing fest, day 1 prompt: One Thousand and One Nights: Have one character tell a story to another.

“So, are you ready to tell me yet?” John asked.

Greg swallowed his beer and carefully placed his pint on the table. “Tell you what?” he replied in wary tones that showed how redundant the question was.

“About how you and Sherlock met.”

“He never told you?”

“What makes you think I'd believe his version?”

Greg chuckled, releasing the tension tightening his features. “Fair enough.” He paused to take another pull from his Guinness. “How far back do you want to go? First time we met, first case, what?”

John could already imagine the circumstances under which he'd met the DI. “First case.”

Greg took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Okay. Well, technically, the first case he solved for us was the night I brought him in for possession the first time. He eavesdropped on me and Donovan as we were driving to the station. We were discussing a case we'd been working on—the first big one since Donovan joined my team. Solved it just from the clues we talked about. 

“Anyway. Second time we brought him in—think this was about three weeks later—same thing. We were at the station, waiting to process him; it was late on a Saturday night so, you know, there was the usual scrum at the station. We were talking about this weird case Kelly had; cops gossip like old women, so it'd been the talk of the station for a couple of days.”

“What was it?”

“An old woman died of hypothermia. In a sauna, if you can believe it.”

“Really? That—”

“Weird, right?”

“Yeah, but—” John paused. “The physiology's pretty straightforward, if the conditions are right.”

That seemed to give Greg pause. “Yeah, all right. The pathologist working the case, Frank Stuart it was back then, he explained all that. But that didn't explain how the old woman got there in the first place: in the middle of the night, in a sauna, in a club where she wasn't a member, where there was no evidence of a break-in.”

“Uh huh. And Sherlock solved it for you.”

“Yep.” Greg grinned. “You'll never guess.”

In the privacy of his mind, John acknowledged that that was most likely true. “Okay. What happened?”

“Turned out the old woman had been an architect, and she'd designed the building back in the late 60s, so she knew where to break in without anyone noticing.”

“Why, though? I mean—” John paused to wrangle his thoughts. “If she'd had hypothermia, why not go to hospital?”

“Sherlock said it was a revenge suicide.”

“What?” John scoffed. “That's pretty far-fetched, even for Sherlock.”

“Yeah, I know. Sounds insane. But Kelly looked into it and yeah, turned out to actually be plausible. Sherlock even guessed just from the scene photos that she had pancreatic cancer.”

John shuddered; there were few deaths more painful and crippling than from pancreatic cancer. 

“Supposedly, back when she designed the building, the clients came up with some excuse to refuse to pay her, or not all her fee, or something. She sued them and lost; supposedly it pretty much ended her career. So I guess after her diagnosis she decided to take them down and give herself a relatively painless death at the same time.”

“And Sherlock came up with all that? When he was strung out?”

“Yep. Almost got me knocked back to DS in the process, but, you know—” Greg shrugged. “You know how he is. Was. Back then. When you met him, he was pretty much—well, there was a lot less drugs by the time you came along, but yeah, the essential arseholeishness was still there. You know how he is: the end always justifies the means. I don't think that's ever going to change.”

A though suddenly occurred to John. “That's why Donovan hates him so much. He almost put the kibosh to your career, and your entire team would have been tainted with it, too.”

“Yeah, a bit. I mean, it's never helped. But mostly it's because she just hates posh tossers who think the world revolves around them regardless of how shit they treat people, just because their great-great-great-great grandfather used to wipe the king's nose for him, or something.”

John laughed. “Yeah, I can see that; Sherlock in a nutshell. Well, not so much anymore, thank god.”

“No, not so much anymore,” Greg agreed. A heavy silence settled over the table for a few seconds before Greg asked in false light tones, “Working on anything interesting?”

Joh appreciated the redirection away from where the conversation had been heading. “I haven't seen him for a few days; he said he's working on some old case a friend of Mycroft's brought him. Claims it has 'potential to be moderately diverting', so who knows what that means.”

“Rare poisons, unusual ways of killing people, criminal masterminds or rich arseholes being evil.”

“Or all of the above.” They laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” John added, wondering when his friend would invite him along for the ride.

“Well, as long as he's keeping busy. And keeping away from the lunatic schemes.”

“Chance'd be a fine thing. I think the lunatic schemes are pretty much a built-in feature with Sherlock.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed, and his almost-wistful admiration made John smile. “Everyone needs a lunatic genius in their life.”

~ + ~


End file.
